When Love Wasn’t Part Of The Plan

SERAFINA

I didn’t cry or scream.

Funny enough, I didn’t even blink, really.

I just stood there, in my own doorway, watching my “Disney prince” fiancé go down raw on my freaking stepsister.

In my goddamn sheets.

I was hella sure they wouldn’t be done anytime soon. I mean… judging from the size of him, she’d be busy all night.

My name’s still saved in his phone as “Wife :)”.

Cute.

It was a slow motion kind of betrayal. It was— expected. Because tell me why that bitch would laugh even when he just coughed?

Welp. I sensed it.

The flirty compliments, the nicknames, even down to the pink underwear I found under his drawer.

I hated pink.

I should’ve left then. God knows I had chances. But no — I stayed. Like an idiot.

Whatever happened there wasn’t dramatic anymore, just Amia’s perfect little foot digging into my comforter while Leo told her she tasted better than anything he’d ever had.

I didn’t say a word.

I didn’t even throw anything.

I was the perfect fiancée, and I’d literally do anything to make my “man happy”— even if it meant letting him rub her clit while telling her what a good little girl she was.

Fuck them both.

I just turned around, walked back out, and closed the door behind me. I knew they both saw me and pretended they didn’t. They obviously didn't give a damn. So why should I?

“Where were we daddy?” Amia finally let out after giggling in the most mocking tone ever.

I didn’t let it get to me, I was done doing that. They could enjoy their little fairytale while it lasted.

My Uber driver was still downstairs.

“Forgot something?” he asked.

I got in. “Yeah,” I said. “My Sanity.”

He let out a light scoff. Poor fella thought I was cracking a joke.

I didn’t know where I was going to, but one thing was certain, it had to be a million miles away from them both. From all of this.

Three days later, they got engaged.

Gold balloons, string quartet, one of those proposals that’s so public it makes you feel embarrassed just watching it.

The caption on her i*******m post said, “Some things are just meant to be”

Sure, so was food poisoning.

I wasn’t heartbroken, not really. Just…empty.

Like I’d been hollowed out and someone forgot to refill me.

It wasn’t just the betrayal, it was how casual it was.

Like I was never the main character. Just the stand-in, the usual test run.

Richard Vale, my father, was an expert in making me remember my worth. Technically, what was really binding us both was that name, “Vale”.

I wasn’t even angry at Leo. I never expected much from him.

But Amia?

Amia I grew up with.

Amia used to sneak into my room when there were thunderstorms.

Amia braided my hair for prom when my mom wasn’t there to do it.

Amia once cried in my lap over a boy and told me I was the only person who ever made her feel safe.

And now she is marrying my fiancé.

With Richard’s full support, obviously.

Because why ruin your perfect PR family with feelings, right?

***

Rhea showed up that night with fries, tequila, and her laptop.

“I have a list,” she said.

I blinked. “Of what?”

“Men desperate enough to marry you within forty-eight hours.”

I didn’t ask how she knew that. I didn’t even want to know. She’s THE Rhea.

Her plan was simple: fake marriage. Public, fast, and confusing. Just enough to shift the headlines before Amia’s big Vogue spread came out next week.

The guy? A struggling model who needed money, exposure, and a green card. Nothing I hadn’t handled before in client campaigns.

He’d meet me at a diner, sign the paper, smile for a staged photo or two, and then vanish. What could possibly go wrong?

I said yes. I didn’t even care how I was going to pull this off, but I was in.

Hell, maybe I was finally cracking. But if I was going down, I wasn’t going alone.

The diner was half-dead when I got there.

The usual red booths, flickering light above the counter, and a waitress who looked like she hadn’t had a night's rest since the ‘90s.

I was…overdressed. I wore a white dress, nude heels and a blazer slung over one arm.

If this was going to be a mess, I was going to be the best-dressed person in it.

Rhea said Booth 7. Left wall by the counter.

I walked straight to it.

The meeting was scheduled at 9:30am. It was already a few minutes to 10.

“He’s punctual Sera, be there on time,”. Rhea added in the description, alongside what he’d wear.

Now, “Mr punctual” was nowhere to be found.

“Light green shirt. Light green shirt. Light green shirt.” I literally recited that line like it was supposed to summon my Prince Charming.

And…it kinda did.

Sitting by the right wall near the window seat, I saw him.

Or so I thought, because he was supposed to be seated at the left wall, probably waiting anxiously like a normal guy who was going to get married to a complete stranger.

But his composure looked rather calm afar, or maybe it was because I hadn’t come close enough to see the face buried under his laptop.

He probably chose to sit there due to its distance from the window or maybe…the WiFi strength. Relatable.

This place was stuffy anyways, I couldn't blame the guy.

I adjusted my blazer one last time and finally took a step towards his direction.

I stood in front of him, hoping he’d stop typing and finally notice me. But he didn’t, not until I let out a loud sigh.

He finally raised his head and Holy Smokes-

I was staring at a Greek god— possibly Poseidon himself..

I quickly snapped out of it.

Something was off, this ethereal being didn’t look like he was a struggling actor, not one bit. He looked like he was THE director of the show.

Damn.

Green shirt, clean lines and a glass of water in front of him, untouched. He finally folded his hands like he was waiting for a verdict. That stillness wasn’t just confidence. It was like… he already knew what I came to say.

I opened my mouth and closed it.

“Done staring ma’am?” The sexiest deep voice escaped his lips. I was too starstruck to also notice how beautiful his blue eyes were.

He looked down, then up again, slowly this time, like he already knew I’d come. Like I was interrupting a plan he’d set in motion days ago.

I finally stretched my hands forward for a shake, desperately praying he’d kiss them instead. To my surprise, he— he just raised those perfectly trimmed eyebrows and leaned back on the chair.

How rude!

I….I’m, um...Sera.

Sera..phina Vale.

I stuttered badly, and I was sure he knew why. It felt soooo embarrassing. I had to shove out an invisible strand of hair to regain my stamina.

I trusted Rhea to set me up with someone decent. But this? This was unreal.

“Dorian.” He paused. Then added, slower, like he wanted it to land. “Dorian Everhart.”

I cut the shy part, I had to brace myself. I could continue once the deal was done. Because naturally, I had already felt some sort of tingling feeling around this man. So playing lovebirds in public would be a piece of cake.

“Rhea, must have told you everything.

I… I need a husband,” I said, finally sitting down.

He blinked once. “Okay.”

I frowned. “That’s it? Just..Okay?”

“You came to me, right? Or.. are my services no longer needed, miss?”

I paused.

He didn’t look like someone who was used to being told no and something about that should’ve made me nervous.

Instead, it made me curious.

I reached into my bag, pulled out the form, and slid it across the table.

“You look calm.”

“That a problem?”

“Only if you think this is going to be… painless.”

He signed without hesitation. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. First name, last name, a slow signature that curved like it belonged on something heavier than marriage paperwork.

This man wasn’t even trying to look reassuring. And that scared me more than anything he could’ve said.

I signed. Fast. Before I could talk myself out of it. Before the stupid voice in my head started asking questions I couldn’t afford to answer.

That was it.

We were married.

One hour later, a bored clerk at City Hall stamped the license like he’d done it a thousand times.

No questions, no vows, not even a damn ring.

Just two strangers, standing side by side, letting a piece of paper tie up their lives like some weird legal prank.

We didn’t speak on the way out.

I walked and he followed.

We didn’t smile or fake any poses, obviously, we were just..silent.

He opened the car door for me like we’d done this a million times.

That was the first time I paused. The first time I really looked at him —

— and wondered what the hell I’d just gotten myself into.

The car wasn’t mine, which was clearly not normal.

It was a Rolls-freaking-Royce. I stared like it might bite me. Who the hell was this man?

He didn’t ask where I lived, he just- drove the car.

I checked my phone.

Rhea: Booth 7, right? Gray shirt???

Rhea: Serafina. SERAPHINA.

Rhea: WHO DID YOU MARRY??

Rhea: THAT’S NOT THE GUY I SENT.

Rhea: I swear to God, if you sat with some random and signed that paper—

What the heck was she talking about? She literally told me he was going to wear a Gr—

Oh Crap—

Gray! Gray not Green! Gosh Seraphina! I let out a sigh as I placed my right palm on my face.

I was probably too anxious to process anything at that point, even simple grammar. Ugh!

I locked the phone and slowly turned my gaze towards him. This wasn’t just a mix-up, it was something else entirely….Something way above my pay grade.

He stared right back, this time, his eyes flickered differently.

His stare told me all I needed to confirm. He was obviously aware of whatever was happening.

He didn’t even seem confused or worried like I was.

Who even was this guy?

Dorian Everhart.

That’s what the license said. I’d never heard of him before but something about the name settled too easily in the back of my mind.

Like it was waiting there.

We finally arrived at my apartment. It was clean, literally, it was spotless.

I stepped out first. He didn’t wait for permission. Just followed me in and stood in the center of my living room like he was casing the place.

“You knew,” I said.

He looked at me.

“That I wasn’t meeting you. That I was supposed to marry someone else.”

He nodded. “You asked.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t think that was weird?”

“Well, you didn’t seem concerned.”

“I was distracted.”

“So was I.”

We stared at each other, for a long moment.

And then, this fine man turned and walked down the hallway.

Like he lived there. Like I was the stranger in this house, MY house.

***

The next morning, everything exploded.

The clerk leaked the paperwork and the gossip accounts posted blurry photos of us walking out of City Hall. Someone on T*****r said I looked “smug and suspicious.” They weren’t wrong.

Leo hadn’t said anything yet.

Amia posted a blurry coffee pic with the caption “Good energy only.”

Sure.

Richard’s office issued a dry press release about respecting family privacy. Which, translated, meant: we hate this but we’re pretending we don’t care.

And Dorian?

He was sitting on my couch, in a black button-up, reading the Financial Post like he wasn’t trending.

I stared at him.

“Um…you’re not the guy she sent.”

He turned a page. “No.”

“You’re not a model.”

“No.”

“You’re not broke or struggling.”

His eyes stayed on mine.

“No.” His tone didn’t change. “And I never said I was.”

I folded my arms with my lips pouting.

“So? Who the hell are you?”

He finally looked up. His head first, then his jaw dropping blue eyes following right after.

“Your husband, ma’am”.